The Sinking Night
by Chocolate Boy
Summary: Giselle Kemper was a social climber who'd reached the highest rung on her ladder. Bruce Wayne considered her nothing more than a gold digging diva looking for a come up. When he finds out there's more than meets the eye to her, he stops at nothing to solve whatever she's hiding. Bruce/OC
1. Chapter 1

"The Sinking Night"

"Smile, Bruce, the paparazzi are watching."

Bruce didn't bother to acknowledge the barrage of cameramen and tabloid reporters outside the restaurant we dined in. Zoo animals were treated with more respect. They banged on the glass window beside us and screamed our names just to get something worthy of a gossip article. With fame you relinquished all rights to your anonymity. I'd grown numb to this sort of thing.

Bruce Wayne surprisingly, not so much.

I scooted closer to my date, positioning my lips against his ear. "Tomorrow pictures of us will be flooding TMZ, Celebrity Buzz, and National Examiner," I whispered, gripping his thigh beneath the table. "So stop looking so goddamn pensive, eat your foie gras, and at least pretend like you give a damn about me."

"You're right." Sticking a forkful of duck into his mouth, he smiled spitefully whilst he chewed. "I'd hate to upset your fifteen million instagram followers all of whom live vicariously through you."

"Don't be disrespectful it's sixty-two million." I smoothed away a stray piece of hair that'd fallen over his handsome face. "Not that I'd expect you to know anything about the inner workings of social media. You barely update your twitter."

"Why don't we skip the formalities, Giselle." Bruce caressed my cheek with his hand. He was in dire need of a mani. The pads of his fingers were so severely calloused that they almost felt like sandpaper. "There's a Baccarat two blocks from here. We can rent a room and I can give you exactly what you want from me. I'll even let you take charge. That's what you like right?"

The offer was tempting, more than tempting. There wasn't a woman in Gotham who didn't fantasize about what they'd do if given the chance to bed Bruce Wayne. And he was right, I did like taking charge. But the lack of tact in which he phrased his proposition, as if he were doing me a favor, it forced me to hide my snarl and decline the offer.

"I don't want anything from you, Bruce."

His laugh was dry and mocking. He thought he knew me. He believed that I was so caught up in my own self-image that ironically enough I had a lack of self awareness.

"Of course you want something from me, why else would you be here? You want your fifteen minutes of fame, a night of passion so worthwhile you can write a tell all when your money dries up. There's nothing substantial about women like you." Singers, supermodels, actresses, the Billionaire had his fair share of them all. Honestly, I thought it was only a matter of time before I became the latest notch in his Gucci belt. But not if he thought it was only because I was using him. And definitely not if he demeaned what I did for a living. "You're a social climber who'll reach the apex of her run sometime soon. Unless maybe you think you can circumvent the inevitable. Maybe you're the type of gold digger who thinks they can actually ride this out for the long-haul."

I took a sip of my wine and checked my lipstick through the reflection of the knife I'd picked up. His words meant nothing. Fleas had more bite.

"You're colleagues must gossip about you all the time, because how respectable is a businessman who can't even commit to a woman long enough to meet her family." I twirled my knife between my knuckles. Back and forth. Back and forth. "You're old news, Bruce. No one checks for you anymore. The younger generation doesn't care about you. If anything, you should be kissing my stilettos right now because I boosted your relevancy."

His face dropped and he ran a hand through his graying hair. "That's a neat trick, where'd you learn that?"

Ramming the knife into the table right inches away from him, I stood. "Let's make this our first and last date." I reached into my Hermes Birkin and made it rain hundreds on him. Enough to pay for our dinner and repair the table. "I never wanted your money. Call me old fashioned, but there's something about you I actually liked."

The hordes of people outside all screamed my name as I followed my bodyguard towards my car. Flashes from their camera's felt like fireworks. The pleas for me to smile, or reveal information of my time spent with Bruce all meshed together into incoherent gibberish. None of this meant anything. There wasn't time to spend replaying the harrowing events that'd just taken place. I still had to upload a few selfies and prep myself for the plane ride to Metropolis tomorrow.

Two loud cracks thundered in the air and something wet splattered across my face. Screams of admiration turned into horror as the crowds surrounding me dispersed like roaches. There was another crack in the air and my stomach felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. I looked to my hands that'd touched my side and they were painted red.

Instantly my knees weakened. They gave out, but arms wrapped around me not a second before I could hit the ground.

"We've gotta get out of here," Bruce said and my eyes drifted shut. "You're safe now."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much everyone for the overwhelming response. Didn't think many would be interested in an OC such as Giselle. I can't guarantee where this story is headed or how often I'll be able to update, but I'll try my best not to keep you waiting too long if the interest remains as such.**

Chapter 2

The doctor diagnosed it as a flesh wound.

Bruce had seen the gash in Giselle's stomach. The trajectory of the bullet ravaged her liver. Blood spurted from her like a geyser when he drove her to the hospital. He was covered in it. With all the blood loss he was certain that an aorta was severed. There was no surviving that.

Giselle should've been dead within the first hour.

But the doctor called it a flesh wound.

How could he deny what he saw before him. Black and blue hues bruised her tawny flesh. The gash, once gaping and horrific, now was no bigger than the diameter of a quarter. Her EKG beeped steadily, a drastic difference from Bruce's own staccatoed heart rate. As if drifting amongst the clouds, Giselle was peacefully asleep.

She wasn't human.

Reaching out to touch her, he tucked her in tighter. If the doctor left he would've strangled her. He could've put a pillow over pretty face and left it there until she flatlined.

"The dichotomy between religion and medicine is a concept long studied, Mr. Wayne," spoke Dr. Bijoy Faal. His hand met Bruce's shoulder in a mediocre attempt at comfort. "But tonight we have witnessed a miracle."

Containing a spiteful laugh, Bruce gave a curt nod. It was better to comply than rock the boat even though he knew better. A miracle couldn't save Jason Todd, nor prevent a young boy from losing his parents. Miracles didn't keep the few good men left in Gotham alive. There were no such thing.

"Oh my God, Giselle!" A woman ran into the hospital room. Though time had done her well, she was considerably older. Still, she mustered up enough strength to push him out of her way. He stumbled into a corner. "How could you have let this happen to you?"

Accompanying her was a tall gentleman dressed in a bespoke suit with Armani glasses. "Mr. Wayne," he said, extending a hand for Bruce to shake. "Cyrus Frost."

"You're a leading architect in Metropolis."

"Once upon a time." His smile was faint and through his glasses his grey eyes were soft. "It's truly a pity that circumstances forced our first impressions to be during a moment like this."

"Thank you for saving her life." Giselle's mother said, kneeling by daughter, holding her hand. "But I believe you've overstayed your welcome."

Cyrus frowned. "He's the hero, Helen, and you're kicking him out?"

"This is a time for family and I'd like my daughter to be surrounded by that when she comes to. Not pretty playboys with tricks up their sleeve," she spat. "I don't even know who allowed him inside anyway. Don't you have a strict family only policy to abide by doctor?"

Straightening his shoulders like a soldier being beckoned, Dr. Faal spoke with levity in his tone. "Yes we do, Helen."

"Then why is he in here?"

"Why because he owns the hospital."

Like a lion protecting her cub, Helen stood to take on the three predators in the corner. Bruce had come across many adversaries in his twenty years serving Gotham, but a mother defending her child was a battle he was willing to lose. He kept his mouth shut.

"I don't give a damn if he-"

Cyrus, a peacemaker he realized, interjected. "I'm sure Gissy would want to thank her savior in person."

"You see I think you misinterpreted my tone. This is not an open discussion. It is a finalized decision. That is unless you'd like to accompany Bruce out the door." Helen's heels matched that sound of the EKG as she strolled over to her husband. Her words were low and spoken with a soft anger. "For the last eight years you may have filled the role of a father, but you are not her blood."

"It's truly not a problem, I'll go," Bruce said, grabbing his ruined suit jacket from a chair. Family dysfunction wasn't his place. "When she awakes give her my condolences for the death of her bodyguard. Oh, and to call me if she'd like another date."

 **. . .**

"Your shag was a mutant," Alfred laughed. "Luck has never treated you as a friend, Bruce, but I doubt a woman would parade herself on camera and make a living being in the public eye if she were hiding a secret like that."

A Billionaire fought crime as a bat. Superman posed as a journalist. Stranger things have happened.

Bruce paced in his lakeside loft, unsettled by the night he'd had. In the very lowest part of his stomach was a spark that would only grow into a raging inferno if his questions weren't answered.

"You know what, maybe after all these years the Joker got what he wanted from me," he said. "Maybe I'm broken. Hallucinations _are_ a common symptom of psychosis."

"What do you want me to tell you that will keep you from pursuing this?" Spinning Bruce around, Alfred pinned him on a wall. "She is a woman. A woman who means no harm to anyone and hasn't given you the slightest indication of wanting to do so. You take on the criminals not innocents. Stop your incessant paranoia for a bloody second."

He couldn't let anyone else die because of his inability to see what was right in front of him. He needed control.

"Do you think my colleagues laugh at me?" It was something Giselle mentioned and he felt silly for asking. Curiosity always bested him.

Sighing, Alfred lifted his hand and together they walked into Bruce's bedroom. "To your face? Never."

"Everything has to check out, Alfred. You know me, I have to make sure of that." Removing his bloodied sullied dress shirt, he tossed it on the ground. "I need videos from the restaurant's cameras to see if I can identify the shooter. She may not be a mutant, but that doesn't stop the possibility of her being on someone's hit list."

"And if she were extraordinary, what then?" he said. "You plan to knocking on her door and demanding answers."

Reaching into his slacks, Bruce pulled out a gold iPhone that belonged to neither of the pair. He'd stolen Giselle's phone in the hospital only a few seconds before her parents arrived. Everything he needed to know about her, from her credit card number to the last person she slept with was literally in the palm of his hand. "I've got all the answers I need."


	3. Chapter 3

**To answer a great question posed by the lovely Doominater84,**

 **This story takes place during in its own little AU world where Superman and Batman know of each other and their respective secret identities. They had their own little squabble of sorts, but Superman is very much alive. I'm not sure if Lex is in the picture just yet so I haven't made up my mind whether or not he knows of their identity. But this story is definitely in it's own world. It doesn't follow the BvS plot.**

 **Thank you everyone for reading and/or showing feedback.**

Chapter 3

There was laughter in the home. There hadn't been much of a reason to laugh lately, but this was genuine, light, and frivolous. The earnest kind like two old friends were reminiscing of fond memories long passed.

One by one the hairs along Bruce's arms raised until upright like a perfect soldier. There was a guest. An unexpected one. Alfred knew to forewarn him of visitors. It would've given him time to keep up the facade. No longer was he Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy. He wasn't Batman. He simply was a living being, tired from work.

He followed the chuckles of Alfred, tiptoeing from the front door through the long foyer. He entered the living room, passing by expressionist art and décor and reached the archway into the kitchen. He stopped, refusing to take another step in.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce asked her.

Giselle sat legs crossed at the kitchen island next to Alfred. In their hands were golden tea cups. Beneath a black wide brimmed hat, something that reminded him of the old Audrey Hepburn movies he used to watch with his mother, Giselle's face was hidden. But what he could see were her painted red lips contorted in a wicked smile. She knew she caught him off guard.

"Having tea with Alfred." Slurping her drink, she sat it on a saucer and motioned a hand out to Bruce. "Talking about my knight in shining armor."

Why would Alfred willingly let her in? That wasn't something he'd do. How had she found where he lived? His lake house was out of the way and-

"There it is," she said. "That goddamn pensive look of yours. I mean really, what's there to think about? You know why I'm here."

Of course he knew. Three days, including the funeral of her bodyguard, had passed. It was only a matter of time before she accused him – rightfully so – of stealing her phone. He didn't think she'd have the nerve to find where he lived, but nonetheless Bruce had a lie ready.

Her dressed flowed around her hips when she strolled towards him. Her steps were at a leisurely pace and the sound of her heels grew louder as she neared him. There was no breathing room left between them. He could smell the perfume that pulsated off her. It was something warm and bewitching.

Digging his hands into his slacks, Bruce refused to give into the feeling of her soft fingertips tracing his jawline. He recognized there was a hold she had over him. One that all beautiful women possessed. But this was magnified. The heat was unbearable, throbbing with wicked temptation. His heart pounded in his chest worst than any near death experience he'd encountered. This fleshly, and raw, and carnal, and it made him weak. He wanted to tear her apart.

Her lips barely brushed his and his body was pleading for her to go through with it. Softly she whispered, "you want to fight me."

Fight. Fuck. Both probably.

"Excuse me?"

Her loving graze switched to a painful vice grip on his face. He didn't dare hit her. Not yet. Not until she struck him first. The venom in her voice extinguished the fire between them and in an instant anger took its place. She pulled him closer.

"You. Want. To fight me!" she scoffed with a hateful laugh at the end. "Why else would you have stolen and hacked my phone."

"You're mistaken, Giselle," he lied. "I only wanted to help. I couldn't let you die."

Tossing him away, she turned to her back to him. "Don't lie to me." She stood behind Alfred who Bruce had forgotten all about. "Alfred and I had a long little chitchat about everything. Tell him what you told me, Alfie."

"Master Bruce stole and hacked your phone Miss Kemper," Alfred said, staring into Bruce's eyes as he uttered his betrayal. "He saw you wounds heal in an unbelievably phenomenal rate and wanted to know what you were. Had you been considered a threat he would've killed you."

"So you want to know what I am? I'm the woman you don't fuck with." She gave three pats to Alfred's shoulder. "Kill him Alfred."

On command Alfred broke the teacup he held, grabbing the sharpest shard out of the rubble. He charged at Bruce with loathing in his eyes. Staggering backwards, he found himself dodging the slew of attacks his butler threw at him.

He pleaded for Alfred to stop, but his attacks were unrelenting. Never had Bruce thought it were a possibility that he'd be forced to use all his training against one of the only fragments of family he had left. It pained him to do it, but it were as if Alfred was a puppet and Giselle was pulling every string.

Bruce hit him in the jaw. Not as hard as he could've, but enough knock Alfred backwards. The act was horrifying. Instantly he was apologizing.

Dropping the glass shard, Alfred charged into him and the pair crashed to the floor. Pain rolled along Bruce's spine, but he found no time to cry out as Alfred's hand latched around his neck. Ten seconds. That's all the time Bruce had to make a decision before he passed out.

He could break Alfred's fingers.

8 seconds.

Gouge his friend's eyes out.

Five seconds.

One hand still keeping Bruce suffocated, Alfred began punching him in the face.

Three seconds.

He didn't want to do this. He'd rather die than hurt his friend.

"Alright, that's enough!" Giselle barked and like a well trained dog Alfred stopped. "He's such a smart boy. I taught him well. Don't you dare think about moving or I'll let him finish you off."

"You don't know what you've started," Bruce said.

"I've done precisely the opposite. This is done with. Because if you cross me again, I'll ruin you. You hear me? I'll take everyone you ever loved and use them all to destroy you. That means every friend, every worker, every whore you slept with, and your little dog too." She stroked and rubbed his butler's head. "You got that, Batman?"

He still felt as if the air was being forced from him. He could hardly breathe after hearing her four last words. She knew. She knew everything.

Without another word from either of them being spoken, she made her leave. She slammed the door behind her so hard it rattled the chandelier Bruce was gazing at.

"My jaw. I need to go to a dentist. Is that the good china broken on the floor?" Alfred, the real Alfred, snapped back to his senses. Whatever hold was once held on him instantly lifted. Quickly he clambered to his feet, but not without clenching his already swelling jaw. "What the bloody hell was I doing straddling you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**I appreciate every piece of feedback. Not much happens this chapter, but I hope it's entertaining nonetheless. Thank you for reading.**

Chapter 4

"Is it necessary to have the interview here?"

Chiffon pink bubbles and lavender scented waters swirled around my naked body. The breeze from the bay carried the scent of sea salt through an open bow window. Across the Metro Narrows Bridge was Gotham City. The skyline was outlined with bright lights that made the city appear more inviting than what it truly was. The skyscrapers may have been tall and it may have been home to some of the wealthiest people, but the city was a downtrodden and dilapidated. Quite different from Metropolis which was bustling and rich with life.

"He knows, Clark," I said. Deeper into the tub I sank until the waters reached my chin. "Bruce Wayne knows."

"What did you do, Charisma?"

The sound of my real name forced me to look at him. Clark Kent was my best friend. He knew me, the real me, and that was a privilege he shared with only my mother. And as much as I may have gotten under his skin, I knew I was the closest thing to his best friend too.

"Can we refrain from using our slave names, Kal-El." Charisma was everything I used to be. Giselle was the phoenix born from the ashes. Loved and adored by millions. "I may have overreacted after finding out he stole my phone."

Clark frowned. He leaned against marble counters imported from Spain, folding his toned arms over his barreled chest. The man was a brute. "I take it I'm going to have improvise our interview. Good thing I wrote it a week ago."

"I hope you said that my beauty is more radiant in person than pictures, that my heart is as big as Metropolis itself, and how my philanthropic efforts are leading to the revival of Gotham. All my quotes better make me sound intelligent yet personable. No one likes a pretentious know-it-all."

" _You_ pretentious?" His laugh was deep and hearty. "Never would've crossed my mind."

I stood from the tub and instantly he turned his head away from the sight of my bare flesh. Like a child he closed his eyes. He smiled innocently and his cheeks turned a light rose color.

"It's just a body stop acting so bashful." Trickles of water cascaded down my curves and I held out my hand. "Robe."

Picking up the robe beside him, Clark didn't bother to hand it to me. Instead he kept his eyes on the garment, thumbing the soft material. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

My eyes rolled so hard I could see the back of my skull. He knew I couldn't force him to do my bidding. Manipulation only worked on the ones with weaker minds. Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, my mother, each of them possessed something that made my charms completely resistible.

"You know I wouldn't do that to you even if I could." I said. "Please can you hand me it. My nips are freezing."

He kept his head turned, taking a few steps my way until he was just within arms reach. I took the robe from him, pulling it around me before stepping out the tub. "It's safe to look. It's a G-rated zone now," I said. He'd been living in Metropolis for over a year now and his pretty girlfriend Lois hadn't brought him out his shell yet? They were a great couple, don't get me wrong, but they were as boring and tasteless as cottage cheese. I guess a simple lifestyle was what Superman wanted.

"You threatened him, didn't you?" he asked. "Bruce Wayne knowing what you are is one thing, him considering you a threat is a whole different ballgame."

"I can't believe you knew he was Batman and didn't tell me. I'm hurt."

"I know your secret and didn't tell him. I don't see your point."

"I'm supposed to be your friend. A confidante. My date with Bruce was a trending topic so you knew that's who I was with. A simple text warning me that I was eating escargot bourguignonne with Batman would've sufficed."

He blinked. "I'm not on Twitter."

First Bruce, now him. What journalist didn't have a damn twitter? Sighing, I unpinned my hair and let it fall to my shoulders. I couldn't face Clark. Instead I walked to my bedroom with him following behind. The next piece of news I knew he wouldn't receive well. "I made Alfred fight him."

"What?"

"I made Batm- _Bruce's_ butler fight him. And I'm positive the caped crusader has a death wish because he allowed Alfred to beat him. He would've willingly died had I not intervened."

"Shit."

Clark wasn't one to normally let profanity color his vocabulary. The only time he did was when the situation was serious.

"I freaked, okay. Gotham's hero he knew I was a mutant and had all of my information. What was-"

"So your best plan of action was to become paranoid, like him, and make one of the only people he has left attempt to kill him? Do you even care what that may have done to him mentally?"

Looking back on it it was a foolish reaction. I had been shot and my bodyguard was dead now because of me. I was irrational, blinded by my own fear so severely that I acted impulsively. The thought that maybe Bruce orchestrated it all was the only thought in my head. It was low of me, sure, but I had to look out for myself.

And if we were being honest, I loved knowing that I bested Bruce. It would be a cherished memory.

"He started it."

"You sound like a child. You know that doesn't matter, Giselle. Once you brought his butler into the picture, you made it personal. Now he won't stop now and he won't hold back. He's going to come at you with everything he's got just to make you suffer. He's going to make you feel exactly how you made him feel."

"Let him try," I said, turning my nose up. "Then it'll really confirm him having a death wish."

"You better fix this, Giselle, because there's no rationalizing any of this with him. You were wrong and beneath this facade you know you're wrong too. And you need to express that to him as soon as possible." Clark yanked his glassed off and began cleaning them. Before I could protest the idea of apologizing, he cut me off. No longer was he sweet boy raised in a Podunk town, but an all powerful being not of this world. Clark when he was serious, not his usual stoicism but actually serious, was scary. Scarier than my mother's temper. "Because if you don't and I'm forced to get involved no one is going to like the outcome."


End file.
